


Mist Wanderer

by Keolah



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dimension Travel, Gen, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 1997-10-17
Updated: 1997-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Keolah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mistfolk, natural shapeshifters from the plane of Avalon, have long held themselves apart from the "solids". But one of them has violated their most sacred principles, and a Mist Warrior named Arthur Pendragon is sent out. Not everything turns out to be as it seems, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Avalon

Listen, my son. Great danger has come to the Plane of Mist, the greatest danger we have ever faced. One of our people has started experimenting in areas he should be shunning. This could mean the end of life as we know it unless he is somehow stopped.

She is Morgana, once a student of mine. I taught her the ways of the Warriors of Mist, but though she was adept at learning she would not follow the stringent code of behaviour we must follow. She did not understand our code of honor. When insulted would attack immediately rather than follow our procedures for dueling. She is a hateful, angry person.

After rejecting my teachings she wandered the Plane of Mist for many years before becoming dangerous. I would have been content to leave well enough alone and let him exist in peace, but for his further actions. She inflamed the villagers against the Warriors of Mist, and only firm oppression calmed them down. That was the revolt of three years ago, if you remember that.

Her spiteful behaviour did not stop there. Morgana discovered several techniques strictly forbidden by our laws. She learned how to control people. She learned how to make illusions solid. She learned also how to use the magic of solid people. She completely ignored the long-standing division between their magic and ours. Somehow she found a way to make it work, and has therefore herself grown incredibly powerful.

You are my best student, Arthur. Not only for being my son, but for being my most obediant pupil, you are the only one I can trust to do this. You must find her, Arthur Pendragon. Chase her until you catch up with her, and bring her back home to Camelot. I will try one last time to get her to follow our ways. If she refuses to do so, he will be executed. Such is the way it must be. Morgana must be stopped at any cost.

Her last known location was wandering in the mists just outside Camelot. From there she must have teleported, likely to another world, because now none of my scryings can locate her anywhere on the Plane of Mist. You know the technique of following a teleport.

Go, my son. I sense it may be a long time before we see one another again, if ever. Be cautious, and remember what I have taught you. You know the ways of the mist, the customs of our people, the laws of our world, the code of the warriors, and most importantly you know the magic. Don't fail me, Arthur. Don't let my trust in you be in vain. Farewell, my son. And good luck.

* * *

Out from the mist blows a chill wind with whispering voices of my people.  
Where are you going?  
I seek one who came before me.  
Who do you seek?  
I seek Morgana. Have you seen her or felt her coming this way?  
Yes, Arthur. We saw her pass this point yesterday morning.  
Which direction did she take?  
She followed the road toward the holt spring.  
Wait, Arthur. I wish to go with you. Where are you going?  
Morgana surely teleported to another world. Are you sure you want to go with me?  
Yes, friend. Lead the way.  
Shall we take on solid form?  
I sometimes like to walk upon the road among the mists.  
All right, friend.  
Human?  
I suppose.

We drew apart from one another. I slowly converted my body from its natural mist-cloud into a more cohesive shape. I took on my favourite human form: that of a black-haired young human male, with pale blue eyes. Then before me a human female emerged from the mist. She was of medium height and long yellow curls twirled down her back. Eyes blue as the sky on the First Plane looked out at me from her skillfully formed face.

"Well done, Guinevere." My voice as a solid sounded annoyingly loud, echoing eerily in the hazy silence.

"Thank you, Arthur," replied a voice from somewhere in the blond woman's throat. "It's nice to know talent is recognized."

"You got every detail. Even pimples! Very good. You're a true master, Gwen. Have you ever considered getting Mist Warrior training?"

The woman shook her head. "I prefer to wander. And thanks for noticing the pimples. Took me forever to get them right."

We turned our clumsy human bodies in the direction of the holt spring. The road was made up of cold stones, with little blades of grass growing in between. I started walking, but, unused to solid form after spending a lengthy time as mist, I tumbled onto the stones. As Guinevere helped me up I looked at the left hand of my body. It was scraped red.

"Are you well, Arthur?"

"The hand hurts. It is damaged," I told her.

She looked at the hand. "Surely it is nothing. Come, friend. It is a fair walk to the holt spring."

I nodded the head of my body and walked--more carefully this time--down the road after Guinevere. As I walked I took in the sights of my home as I rarely had occasion to do before. 

The trees tower into the nothing of the grey-blue sky and spread their grey-green leaves over the grey road. Their grey-brown bark is rough and thick, peeling off in some places though there is much more underneath. The leaves are rounded and fuzzy to the touch. Nuts grow from the branches of these trees and scatter on the ground. Empty nutshells are strewn about as well.

All else further is the grey of infinite mist, rolling on forever across these lands of mist.

Ahead the mist parted and I saw water. It was the holt spring, a misty pool of bubbling water surrounded by trees. I also sensed nearly the tingle of a recent teleport.

"She's been here," I murmured. "Guinevere, do you know the technique of following a teleport?"

"I do know it," the woman replied. "Are you going to follow this one?"

"It's Morgana," I told her. "I have to. Are you coming with me?"

"You can count on it. Take the teleport first and I will come after, my friend."

I walked into the center of the tingling teleportal and converted my body to mist again. I feel more comfortable in my natural form although it is impossible to interact with solids like this. I reach into the teleportal and know that it was indeed Morgana who last went this way. Nervously, I slide every particle of my being into the magic that takes me away from my homeworld, even knowing that I may never return. Goodbye, my people, the people of the mist. I will miss you greatly. The magic of the mists takes over, and I am gone.


	2. The Rainforest

I am very cold. The wind blows at me, threatening to wrench my misty body apart. Somehow I manage to stay together in the frigid darkness. I pull myself into a solid form, that of a large bear, which can survive the intense chill. Through the portal I just came through a second child of the mists also comes. I recognize her essence as being that of Guinevere. She takes on a shape similar to mine, but a white bear instead.

"What is this place?" growls the bear. To my surprise I understand what she is saying for some reason unknown to me. I assume that I could understand the language of any creature I take the form of.

"I have no idea," I snarl back. "I think I sense another teleport somewhere in that direction."

"I sense it also. Let's get out of this place."

"Agreed."

I convert my body to mist form again and locate the teleportal. It is Morgana for certain, since no other mist person in their right mind would ever be in a place like this. I slip through the barriers of space itself, feeling Guinevere come as well. The cold no longer touches my being. I feel warmth instead. We emerge in another place.

It is warm here, and humid. I decide to take on human form in this location. I convert myself to flesh and stand solid once again.

There are trees all around. It is very hot here for a human. Vines hang from the leafy canopy above. A multitude of insects darts about in the haze. A variety of fungus grows from the brown trunks of the trees. It looks like little shelves jutting out from the bark. The vibrant foliage rustles above as if an animal had just moved somewhere up there.

From the mist a woman with black hair emerges. Her eyes are vivid blue, and a sprinkling of pimples covers her face. "Ah, this is a much better place, Arthur! It's rather nice here."

"Black hair this time, Gwen? Can't you decide on a preferred hair colour?"

"I have no preferred hair colour. I like blond, black, brown, red, blue, green, all colours really."

"Humans don't have blue or green hair!" I smiled at her.

Guinevere shrugged. "I don't care. I like having green hair sometimes. And purple."

"Now, if I were Morgana, where would I go from here?" I murmured.

I bent the head down and moved the right hand to scratch the chin contemplatively. Then I noticed in the mud were human footprints. I wrinkled the body's forehead and examined them more closely. It was clear someone had come this way recently.

"Let's head this way," I told Guinevere. "I'm not sure if it was Morgana, but somebody went this way not long ago."

The woman nodded her head. I started walking in the direction the marks in the ground lead, the black-haired woman following after me. I walked for some length, occasionally slipping in the mud or helping Guinevere when she slipped. We stopped to rest for a minute at a fallen log. As I sat there contemplating my present human form and it's frailties, the black-haired woman screamed.

I jumped to my feet. "What is it, Gwen?"

The woman stood, the mouth hanging open, the left arm pointing to a place up in the trees. I looked in that direction, trying to figure out what was the matter. Then I saw it. A misshapen green cube hung suspended above the tree branches, it's warped edges seeming not entirely solid.

"What is that thing?"

"Not the cube," Guinevere told me. "Look further up."

I looked, and saw something which turned the human stomach. It was a snake, horribly dead, hanging headless from a limb. Brightly coloured birds swerved in their flight to avoid coming near it. The snake's insides were on the outside of its body. Flies flitted around it, lighting upon it, and maggots were crawling all over it. Just looking at it, my human form tried to turn itself inside out, its stomach purging itself onto the forest floor. As soon as I could control my body again, I turned to Guinevere, who was still standing there almost unaffected, staring at the thing.

"What happened here?" I asked myself.

"It had to have been Morgana," Guinevere said.

"Damn! Uther told me he had learned how to make illusions solid. Could he have done this?"

"Illusions solid? How? And is this the result?"

"It would seem," I muttered. "Come, let's go. Nothing we can do here. The poor thing is obviously dead, and probably was never really alive to begin with." The black-haired woman's head nodded. I turned my gaze to the trail again. Before I expected it, there was another teleport. "He seems to have teleported from here. Do you confirm that?"

"Yes, this is definitely another teleport. Shall we follow?"

I smiled at Guinevere. "You really ought to get Mist Warrior training. You'd make the perfect Warrior of Mist."

"Nice try, Arthur Pendragon. Now let's go."

Shaking my body's head and sighing, I prepared to convert myself to mist. I make myself relax, I calm down, letting the snake slip from my memory. It doesn't matter now. It ceases to matter. Return to the mist. Become that which I was born as. The mist is what I was meant to be, not this crude flesh. I am a child of the mist, be the mist once again. I am mist.

I am mist. I sense the portal around me, where someone came before, and not very long before, although several days I am certain. I feel another child of the mist beside me as well, and her familiar presence comforts me. I know I am to follow this one who came before. I slide my being into the portal, following the thread he left behind. The peaceful humid warmth of the rainforest recedes from me. Goodbye, forest. I am gone.


	3. The Savannah

I am hot. I feel sunlight falling all around me and through me. Burning me, great pain. It is dissolving my very being. I am evaporating. Panic! I must take on solid form. I must somehow bring myself together to survive. Solid. Only a solid being can survive this heat. Human. Human form.

I force the scattering particles of my being together into my usual human form. Young male, black hair, pale blue eyes, fair skin. Wearing a grey robe. Why a grey robe? I didn't care, so long as I was alive. The direct sunlight had done me more damage in my natural form than merely scraping my hand could have done in solid form.

A human female, dark-haired and dark-skinned, vivid blue eyes, appeared in the distorting sunlight beside me. "Not a very friendly place," the woman's mouth spoke.

"At least in misty form," the human throat vibrated the words. "It's tolerable in human shape, though."

"You are going to get burnt, Arthur," the woman said.

"What do you mean? I've already been burnt nearly to death."

"I mean your human skin. You should have made it darker. That pale skin will be red from the sun before long."

"It will?" I replied dumbly.

"Yes, Arthur." The dark woman smiled. "We'll have to find some shade or another portal soon. I don't think either one of us dares to convert to mist long enough to take on another shape, in this awful place anyway. That warm, hazy forest was such a nice place, too. I could live there easily."

I looked to the cracked, parched ground, trying to see some trace of footprints. Sparse yellow grass barely clung to life in the grey-brown dust. I could find no trace that anyone had ever lived here. I lifted my head to the horizon, hoping to glean some inkling of where Morgana might have gone. In one direction there was a splotch of dark green. Perhaps a forest? That was too much to hope for. A waterhole, more likely. No other sign of life could be seen in this barren wasteland.

"He had to have gone that way," I commented, the hand pointing toward the green. "There is surely shade under those trees. He would have gone to the shade."

"Agreed," the black woman's head nodded.

In silence I turned the human feet toward the welcoming green. The air was dusty and arid. I put the right hand against the front of the head, and felt its wetness. There was wetness also beneath where the arms connected with the torso. I ran the fingers of the right hand through the hot hair. I was glad of the hair's protection, for I knew that the human brain, necessary to function in this shape, could not survive the excessive heat it would otherwise be exposed to.

Guinevere walked beside me. She did not seem to have it so hard, probably because of her dark skin. I wished fleetingly that I had thought to make that slight modification in my usual human shape rather than blindly take on whatever shape I could. But then I shrugged it off. I had been in a hurry and didn't have time to think. 

The hot sun beating down upon my body suddenly ceased. Cut off by cool shade. Green fronds spreading above, blocking the intense light. Soft, green grass carpeting the ground. Shimmering water rippling between grey stones. The stones cold to the touch. Into the water as quickly as I can, grey robes and all. Refreshing waters lapping against the pale human skin. Healing, reviving, regenerating.

After a long time floating in the cool waters, I climbed out of the pool. The wet robes, now darker grey, clung to the human body. A dark-skinned woman sat on the rocks, bare feet in the water. Dripping black hair hung down from her head. "Are you feeling better now, Arthur?"

"Yes, Guinevere, thank you," I replied with a grin, sitting also. "Are you also well?"

"I am healed. Some of the water has been absorbed into my being. It was not as sustaining as being in natural form in mist, but it will do for now."

I turned my thoughts again to the task at hand. "Any sign of Morgana?"

The black woman's head shook. "Not like last time, anyway. But then I haven't really looked. Survival was frontmost in my mind."

"I'm going to check around the waterhole," I told Guinevere. "I won't go out into the sun again. Morgana wouldn't."

"You ought to rest, Arthur." The woman stood. "I can search as well as you. Just stay in the water. You'll be all right."

"You also had it hard, Gwen," I objected. "I--"

"Enough of this. I'll search. You stay in the water."

I could not protest against her when she spoke so firmly. Sighing, shrugging, I jumped off the rocks into the splashing cool water. I floated there, relaxing in the shade of the green leaves. It felt almost as good as floating in a sea of mist in my natural form. The time flew by, passing me without my noticing, and Guinevere returned.

"Morgana has been here, alright," she told me, bending over the water. "I found a warped sphere and some other things. There's a portal between those two trees." Her right arm pointed to the far end of the waterhole.

"I want to see them for myself," I insisted, climbing out of the pool.

"Remember what happened last time?"

"The water has restored that to me. I still want to see. At least I'll be somewhat more prepared this time."

"You won't like it," Guinevere told me.

"I don't like any of this. Let's get on with it."

The black woman sighed and led me around the water. Behind a tree floated an orange sphere, it's edges wavy and sometimes fading out of existance altogether. I reached out the left hand and touched it. To my surprise the sphere had no mass whatsoever. "Morgana has been experimenting again."

"Yes," the blue-eyed woman affirmed. "Do you want to see the cat?"

I looked at her. "Is it like the snake?"

"Very much."

"How was it different?"

"The cat had a head."

"I don't want to see it." I shut the eyes tightly. "We'd best take the portal now, Gwen."

"That would be best."

I sensed the portal in the shady place between two trees. With relief I convert myself into my natural form, protected in the shadows from the sun. There is the teleport, where another of my kind had passed through a few days before. Eager to be gone from this arid wasteland, I slip between the folds of the fabric of space, leaving behind the cool oasis and the hot savannah. I enter the purple nothing of between.


	4. France

I am cool, in a place of gentle rains. All damage done to me by the harsh sun is now healed. I drift until evening in mist form. Arthur, a voice echoes. Arthur, take on solid form. We've gotta find Morgana.

Reluctantly, I converted my being into my usual human form again. "Sharamie," the throat grated.

"Thought I'd never get through to you, Arthur," spoke a woman with auburn hair and vibrant blue eyes.

We stood on a ridge over a forested valley. The sky was overcast arching over a village partly hidden down in the vale. Green grass and white wildflowers rustled in the wind. A beaten path wound down the slope.

"The village," I murmured. The blue-eyed woman nodded her head.

We walked side by side down the trail. The last rays of sunlight sparkled on the dew on a spiderweb in a tree over me. The streets of the village were muddy. Wooden structures stood around.

"Let's check in here." The auburn-haired woman pointed to a sign with a mug on it hanging over the door of a structure.

"Okay." 

We entered the door. The room inside was dimly lit and smoky. Humans sat around circular tables absorbing alcohol and consuming nutrients, or just vocalizing. 

"Good evening, my sir." I turned to see a human male, muscular and unshaven, wiping a table with a grey cloth. I nodded to him in greeting. Then I turned to Guinevere.

"Remember, we won't be understood immediately. We'll have to wait until we learn their dialect in order to communicate with them."

"I know that, Arthur."

The man continued, "I call myself Jean-Claude. I own this establishment. Will you be wanting a drink, perhaps? Dinner? A place to stay for the night?"

I silently cursed my present inability to speak in his language, even though I could understand it perfectly well. All I could do at present was copy his phrases exactly.

"I call myself Arthur."

"Arthur," mused Jean-Claude, not quite pronouncing it correctly. "You are from another country, perhaps?"

"Another country?" I repeated somewhat blankly.

"Yes? No?"

"Yes."

"You'd almost have to be," the human shrugged his shoulders. "Your French is none too good, and you have a peculiar accent. Where are you from?"

"Avalon," I replied, the name of the Plane of Mist.

"Avalon? Never heard of it. Must be very far away indeed." He strode toward a large wooden piece of furnature and shoved the grey cloth under it. He then held up a drinking vessel. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Something to drink?" I wondered.

"Beer? Ale? Mead?"

"No."

Then I noticed that Guinevere had wandered off to a corner table and was communicating with a group of local humans. She had apparently picked up on the dialect much quicker than I had. I walked over toward the table at which the auburn-haired woman was sitting.

"Guinevere?"

The blue-eyed woman looked up at me. "Arthur, glad you could join us. I have learned some interesting things from these humans. Please be seated."

I bent the body into a sitting position on one of the wooden chairs. "I will listen," I told her, not caring if anyone else understood me or not.

"Go ahead, tell Arthur what you told me," the blue-eyed woman said to the humans.

A blond female added, "Last week, a strange woman came in here. She was obviously a foreigner by her dress and manner of speaking. She didn't talk to anyone for a long time, and when she did it was strange. It seemed as though she were trying to hypnotize people."

A tall male wearing a flimsy hat spoke. "She had red hair, and there were many people on the balcony." What was that supposed to mean? I don't think I heard that correctly. "But for her peculiar behaviour one might call her beautiful."

"What exactly was she doing?" I blurted out without thinking. Fortunately Guinevere was there to translate for them.

"Arthur wants to know what this woman was doing."

The humans looked somewhat nervous. A young male with spectacles said, "She went up to Jean-Claude and told him she wanted a room where she could work in private."

The tall male continued, "Jean-Claude asked her to show him the money."

"But the woman didn't have any money apparently."

"And she told Jean-Claude firmly that she didn't need money, and ordered him to give her a room anyway."

"And Jean-Claude did! Jean-Claude has never done that, he's a real penny-pincher. I don't get it."

"It was very strange. I wonder if she slept with him to convince him?"

It was hard for me to tell who was speaking, since all humans are alike to me. But the fact remiained, that Morgana definitely had been here, and had been practicing her unorthodox techniques as well.

I bent over to the auburn-haired woman and said in a low voice. "Mind control?"

"So it would seem," she whispered. "Morgana?"

"Yes. Uther mentioned mind control."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"This is worse than I thought it would get. We've gotta find her. If she has learned to control the minds of humans, she might learn how to control the minds of mist people, too."

"Tell me now, what other things did Uther Pendragon tell you that you're keeping quiet about?" The blue-eyed woman had a dangerous edge to her voice.

"I hope you're not angry with me," I breathed. "My father told me that Morgana had also learned how to use the magic of solid people."

Guinevere didn't respond. She hung her head, looking away from me, looking down at the table. "We'll have to be careful," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Let's go find the teleport. We've learned all we can here."

"Agreed." I straightened the body I was using and balanced upon the feet again. The auburn-haired woman also stood. "Guinevere, could you ask Jean-Claude over there which room he gave to Morgana?"

The woman nodded her head. She walked over to Jean-Claude and queried, "A woman with red hair came in here last week. Her name is Morgana. She's a relative of ours. We're looking for her. Which room was she in? So that we might find out where she went."

Her mastery of the local dialect was far from perfect, but I had to admit she had real talent there. Jean-Claude told her, "She was in room 13. It's unoccupied at the moment. Down that hallway, third door on your left."

"Thank you."

We walked down the indicated corridor, the four human feet making hollow noises upon the wooden floor. We passed a closed door on the left, then a door open to an empty room, and another open door.

"Why does everyone build with wood around here?" Guinevere wondered. I didn't bother to answer.

I stepped inside the room. The furnishings were sparse, but all human needs were met. There was a bed with colorful sheets, a rectangular table, three wooden chairs, a fireplace with embers beneath the ashes, a blue eliptical rug, a closed door probably leading to a closet, and a square window. I also felt the tingle of a teleport coming from the center of the room.

"Let's check the closet first," the auburn-haired woman insisted, already across the room and opening the door. From where I was standing I could not see what was inside before she slammed it shut again.

"What's in there?" I inquired.

"More of Morgana's experiments. Let's go."

Shuddering, I forced myself to relax. I let my human shape fall apart, scattering myself as mist once again. The feeling of the portal is much stronger in mist form, now that I am attuned to what Morgana's teleports feel like. I slip into the portal, an opening to another place, doubtless far away. I leave behind the valley and the village and the sky of gentle rains. I know not where this will take me this time. Nevertheless, I go. Away from this place. Into the greyness of mists. I am gone.


	5. Sydney

I am warm, and in a place of endless mist. For a moment I think I have returned to the Plane of Mist, until I feel the water below me. It is salty and has waves. An ocean, I realize. There are no oceans at home. Guinevere comes through the portal. 

Where are we, Arthur?  
I don't know yet. There's an ocean down there.  
Is there a coast somewhere nearby?  
I hope so. I'm not overly keen on the idea of questioning fish.  
Which way to the waves go?  
That way, Guinevere.  
Let's follow the waves. They ought to lead us to shore.

We drift in the direction the waves are moving. It isn't long before we find solid ground upon which we can convert to human form.

I slowly bring myself together, being careful to be standing upon something solid rather than over the water. I converted my being to the shape of a human, black hair, fair skin, pale blue eyes. Wearing--a blue-grey tunic, and black trousers. Good enough.

A woman with red hair and vivid blue eyes stood beside me. "Hello, Guinevere," the human throat greets her. In this environment I truly would have preferred to stay in mist form, but the quest was inevitable, and required solid form.

"Arthur," she inclined her head toward me in greeting. "That looks to be a city, Arthur."

I turn the human neck where she is looking. I could hardly see anything for the mist, so was uncertain as to what Guinevere was refering to. "A city? Then let's go see if we can learn the local dialect enough to question some of the humans around here."

"What I was thinking," the red-haired woman agreed. She started walking away from the ocean and toward the city I could not see. Sighing, I propelled the human legs to follow her.

I saw some structures emerge from the mist, the grey outlines of angular buildings. I could see people moving around somewhere ahead. Nervous about being among so many humans, it was my will to stop and see if I could talk with them in smaller groups. Guinevere, however, had different ideas. She kept walking unfazed right into the middle of the crowd, and it was all I could do to keep up with her. I had to keep her in my sight or I would have to use the scrying technique to locate her again.

She was moving too fast for me. Some humans shoved in front of me, pushing me out of the way. Shocked at their impertinence, I shoved them right back. "Don't mess with me, you solid scum!"

It was probably just as well that they didn't understand a word I was saying. Of course, by now, Guinevere was well out of sight. The buzz of the crowd was irritating to me. I could not hear enough of one conversation to learn any of the local language.

"Guinevere!" I called. The crowd surged on unaffected. The blue-eyed woman did not appear.

Starting to grow worried, I plunged into the heart of the crowd, uncaring what the humans' reaction would be. I pushed people out of the way, moving this way and that in the direction I had seen Guinevere take. I could not be left here alone.

I stumbled and fell. Tears were beginning to sting the human eyes. Why was I crying? What was wrong with me? I was like a child in this world, alone in the mists that were my home, but these were the wrong mists, and this was the wrong world.

"Morgana, tell me where you are so that I may end this awful quest." I murmured, kneeling in the center of a crowd, crying.

"Is something wrong?"

I could not determine where the voice was coming from. "No, nothing's wrong," I replied.

"What? What language is that?"

I cursed myself for saying anything at all, knowing that I could not be understood. "It doesn't matter. I'm all right." I came to my feet.

"Something is obviously wrong or you wouldn't be crying."

"I'm lost. I'm alone. I'm looking for two people," I addressed the ambiguous mists, still unable to figure out who was speaking in the blurry grey mistscape. I fervently wished that I was home.

"A tourist. Where are you from?"

"Avalon," I replied. "I'm from Avalon, the Plane of Mist. I'm not a tourist. I am a Warrior of Mist. Leave me alone."

"I can't understand half of what you are saying. Don't you speak English?"

"No," I said the word I remembered from French, hoping the figure in the mists knew what I meant.

"You don't speak English."

"What language is that?" I asked, mimicking her previous words as closely as I could.

"You do speak English? English is the language we speak here."

I was getting frustrated with the entire conversation. "Forget it. I don't need your help. Leave me alone."

But the human in the mists would not leave me alone, probably didn't even know what I was saying. I needed Guinevere. I was next to helpless with the humans without her.

"I'm trying to help you. What's wrong? What language do you speak?"

"Go away!" I shouted. "I'm not like you, and I never will be."

I blocked out everything, ignoring the person's further words, in an attempt to scry out the present location of Guinevere. I sent out a vibration on the mists around me, asking the very environment where she was. I had to find her. I hated the feeling of being helpless. I felt what direction she was in. I looked that direction, and the distance, in my mind. I started walking that way.

"Wait, where are you going?"

I refused to listen to the human's jabberings any longer. I cut through the masses of filthy solids, pushing them out of the way in order to reach what I was looking for. They were nothing to me. Blind from the mist in my eyes and the tears which had stopped falling, I depended upon my scrying magic to see me through. I followed the tendrils of mist.

"Guinevere!" I called. I knew I was getting closer to her. Not far now.

"Arthur?" replied a distant voice somewhere ahead.

I ran headlong toward her, stumbling as I reached her and falling face-first on the ground. Slightly embarressed by my inability to control my human body, I pulled myself to my feet again and wiped the tears from my eyes. Before me stood a red-haired woman with vivid blue eyes.

"Where were you, Arthur?"

"Lost in the crowd. You went too fast for me."

"Sorry. I have learned some interesting things."

"You have?" I was getting tired of Guinevere doing the work I should be doing.

"Yes. Morgana was by here a few days ago."

"She was?" I sounded stupid even to my own human ears.

"Yes, silly, she was." The blue-eyed woman smiled at me. "Apparently she stayed here a couple days."

"That means we're slowly catching up with her," I thought aloud.

"Slowly, yes. We wasted lot of time at the beginning, but yes, we are definitely catching up with her."

"Did you find the teleport?"

"Not yet, but I suspect it's around this place somewhere. This building."

I couldn't see the building. "I don't care how you found this out. I just want to get out of here. These strange mists scare me. I don't like these people here, for some reason. They were very rude to me."

"Relax, Arthur, they're not that bad. They were very kind to me."

A breath of wind blew overhead, carrying with it a purple pyramid, floating upon the breeze. The pyramid was perfectly formed, it's edges sharp and clear, although it clearly had no mass whatsoever. As I watched the bit of purple vanished again into the mists.

"Morgana has definitely been here," I confirmed.

"Let's go inside. I think I have an idea where she was last before he teleported," Guinevere told me. Without further ado, she walked away from me toward the building whose grey outline I could barely see. It was all I could do to jog after her before becoming lost once again in these strange mists.

I pushed through the door after the red-haired woman as quickly as I could. I felt the distinctive tingle of a nearby portal. Without even thinking, I convert my body to mist again. I can hardly believe how eager I was to be gone from this place. Something about this place scares me so badly it wasn't even funny. Something about this entire world terrifies me beyond anything I have ever experienced before. 

I put the fear out of my mind. A new place awaits, which will bring me closer to finding Morgana and ultimately returning to my home. I feel Guinevere as mist is near me, waiting patiently for me to enter the portal.

I slither between here and there, to a place of neither. I leave behind the alien mists. The nothing of nothing whose greyness is purple welcomes me once again. I am gone.


	6. The Tundra

I am cold. A chill wind blows through me. I don't know if I dare take on solid form here. But I feel no teleports nearby, so I think I will have to. This desolate place cannot be all bad.

I converted my body to human shape once again, this time forming warmer clothing than I had needed previously. Then a woman emerged from a cloud of mist, dark hair and vibrant blue eyes. She does not speak. There is no need for words.

This lonely tundra stretched on as far as I can see. A layer of snow coverd the permafrost. This was a land that never knew summer. How many winters had come and gone in other lands where this land remained frozen?

I looked down at the ground. A trail of blood drops led off into the distance. Pulling my thick cloak closer to my body, I trudged off across the rime-covered landscape after them. But for a few struggling plants, there was no other sign of life.

I stopped in my tracks, finding the source of the blood. It was a wolf, lying dead in the snow. A sword, red with blood, lay nearby.

"What happened here?" Guinevere wondered, coming up behind me.

"I don't know," I replied. "I don't understand this at all." My curiosity getting the better of me, I picked up the sword and examined it. To my surprise, the thing had virtually no mass. "Illusion."

"An illusionary sword?" the blue-eyed woman wrinkled her forehead. "That wolf looks pretty dead to me. Morgana seems to be getting better at this, then."

"Why didn't she just turn the wolf inside-out like she did the other animals?" I had to ask.

Guinevere shook her head. "Maybe he's trying different tactics."

I tested the blade of the sword. It was very sharp, perfect as only an illusion could be. Everything about the sword was just too perfect. Yet it had no mass.

"But when mist people take on solid form, we have mass," I mused, thinking aloud. "Yet Morgana's illusions, when solidified, have none. Is there something we have that his illusions do not?"

"We're alive," Guinevere replied.

I shook my head, dropping the perfect sword. "I think I sense a portal further that way. No sense in staying here any longer, I guess."

Shuffling toward the teleportal, I almost missed the look Guinevere gave me, and even seeing it I didn't understand it. What was it? Contempt? Hatred? Anger? Something else entirely? Too many things here had already frightened me, and now there was something up with Guinevere. Pretending that I didn't notice, I continued walking.

"Here's the portal."

Troubled, I let myself break apart into mist form. I have always been more comfortable in my natural form. Yet the relief that usually comes with reversion did not come this time. I try to ignore the growing feeling of unrest within me. If I cannot control my anxiety I will not be able to control the magic. I must take refuge in the ways of the Warriors of Mist. The honor, not to mention this to Guinevere. The discipline, to continue on nevertheless.

I have spent too much time in human form lately, I determine. I need a vacation. I enter the portal and leave behind the grey tundra. I am in both places and neither. I enter the sweet oblivion of the mists. I am gone.


	7. Oregon

I am cool, but not overly cold. This is a place of rains, much like the valley I was in before. The gentle mists here comfort me, easing my troubled spirits. I could almost feel at rest here. But I know it cannot last. I must take on human form again and continue the search for Morgana. With great reluctance, I become human. Black hair, pale blue eyes, fair skin. Clothing like that which was worn by the people in the crowd in the last place I visited.

"Morgana seems to be getting better in choosing his teleport sites," commented a woman with short silver-blond hair and vivid blue eyes. "Hopefully we won't end up in anymore mist-hostile places."

"One can only hope," I sighed. I was starting to resent my dependance on Guinevere. I was a Warrior of Mist, I should be the one protecting her and guiding her, not the other way around.

"Any footprints?"

"None that I can see."

"Any sign of life at all?"

I shook my head. "This world gives me the creeps."

"Relax, Arthur," Guinevere told me. "The worst thing we have to fear here is Morgana."

"And evaporation," I added.

"At least we know how to deal with that," she replied. "Morgana, on the other hand--"

Came a sudden rustling noise. "What's that?" I whispered. Guinevere shook her head, a look of puzzlement and curiosity upon her face.

"Show yourself!" demanded Guinevere.

I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration. Opening them, I saw a red-haired young human female step out of the foliage.

"Who are you?" asked the woman.

I didn't trust myself to reply, not knowing the woman's particular dialect. Guinevere, however, help no such restraints. "My name is not important. Who might you be?"

"My name is Morgana," she said with a wry smile. "You are mist people also?"

"Morgana!" I exclaimed.

"That's right," the red-haired female grinned. "I was wondering, why do you have to fear me?"

"You-- You--" I stuttered.

"We don't want to be turned inside-out or fall victim to your solid illusions, or anything else," Guinevere replied, somewhat tactlessly.

"I'm not responsible for the inside-outing. I was trying to make living illusions. It obviously didn't work. So you have been following my teleports? Why?"

"You're a criminal..." I trailed off.

"Is that what you've been told?" Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Who told you this?"

"Uther Pendragon," I told him.

"My _dear_ old teacher?" the red-haired woman wrinkled her forehead. "I see. That explains quite a bit."

"What do you mean?" I sputtered. "What does it explain?"

"Arthur, shhh," Guinevere said to me. "Let me handle this."

"No!" I exploded. "I'm sick to death of you 'handling' everything. I am a Warrior of Mist, don't you see? Stop this, Guinevere!"

Guinevere gave me a look that seemed almost sympathetic and held an infuriating pity. "Arthur, shut up."

I looked toward Morgana, but noticed to my shock that she had vanished. I saw a cloud of mist ahead, and felt the tingle of magic indicating she was teleporting.

"Damn!" I cried, converting to mist as quickly as I could. I force myself to relax, even knowing that there will be consequences for such an action later. The chase is on, and I need to grab whatever advantage I can while I still can. I am mist, I find the teleport, I seep between here and there in the purple greyness of nothing. Beyond and within, I am gone from the forest without even caring if Guinevere was following. I leave her alone in the mists wandering, losing any caring I ever had for her in my determination to succeed.

I emerge from the portal and seek the direction Morgana took. I find another teleport not far from the last. Without a second thought I follow that one as well, knowing even beforehand that it emerges in a chill climate. I slip inside on the fabric of reality. I am gone before I can even identify my location.

I am in a place of cold, not blizzards but still low in temperature. I determine Morgana's next action, feeling that there is no teleport nearby. I convert my being into the shape of a swift hawk, so that I might follow him from the air, since I assume that he must have taken on solid form. I make the fastest scrying possible to learn which direction he took, and by wings and feathers fly after her.

Over rivers and over forests I fly, faster than I thought it was possible for a bird to fly, scrying occasionally to adjust my course so that he doesn't lose me. Finally somewhere ahead he makes a teleport. I seek the portal, flying there quickly high in the air. I convert myself to mist again and force myself to relax from the excitement of flight.

I must enter the portal. I must be calm to do so. I enter into the vast purple nothing. I am gone. I know by now that Guinevere has been lost for certain, for she will be unable to find this particular portal from following teleports. I regret that. Perhaps I will be able to find her again somehow. Or more likely, she will find me. She was always the more clever one.


	8. New York

I am in a place of drifting winds, where I feel the salt of the sea again. I know Morgana is nearby, somewhere, I have but to find her. In the mists of the island I know this must be, I convert my being to solid form, the same human form I find that I am growing accustomed to. Even though that terrifies me that I might come to like solid form, I know that it is best that I do for the sake of my work alone. As a Warrior of Mist it is always good to be comfortable in a human shape as I have come to be.

Taking in the smells of the environment, the sweet aroma of food I have never tasted tantalizing me with its exotic variety. I must not let myself be distracted by human desires, however. Morgana must be caught up with.

Walking into the city, a less pleasant smell beginning to tease my nostrils. Asphault, gasoline, exhaust, I identified the smells. The trademark of a typical Terran city, to be sure. This proved once and for all that Terra was the world I was on. Before I had seen this place, I could have been practically anywhere else in the universe, but only Terra has automobiles. It was not a welcome discovery for me. I had heard more bad stories about Terra than any other world.

I heard the voices of a multitude of people talking around me as I entered the crowd milling along the cement walkway, knowing full well what they were saying but angered by the fact that no matter what I said to them, they would be unable to understand me. It frustrated me to know that I had no talent for language, and wished desperately that there were some magic to alleviate this shortcoming of mine. I regreted leaving Guinevere behind now more than ever.

I slipped out of the crowd into an alley in which I might be able to concentrate. It was quieter in here but it smelled even worse, if that was possible. Pulling my thoughts together, I send out a scrying to determine which direction Morgana was in. She is standing in a well-lit place one hundred meters north-northeast of my present position. I draw back to my human body.

The alley was dark and a few circular metallic disposal units lined one corner of it. However, my knowledge of Terran cities warned me about alleys, and I head toward the street again. A group of burly males wearing shiny skin clothing blocked my exit, however.

"A little foolish rich wuss," snarled one of them.

"Let's take his money!" growled another.

My Mist Warrior training suddenly came flooding back to me, a thousand thoughts running through my head at once. I knew I had to escape, because if I died in human form it would be a very real death indeed. I didn't have time to convert to mist; they were converging on me. Mist magic? Some kind of mist magic might be able to get me out of here. I was a Warrior of Mist: I could not let myself die this way, alone in a Terran city of all places. I attack.

In sheer fury I plunge toward the creatures, terrifying them with my ferocity. I pull an illusion of a sword out of the mist and hold it as if it were real. I suddenly recalled how Morgana had gotten an illusionary sword to become solid, and thought, If she can do it, maybe I can too. Even though it was against Mist Warrior code, I attempted to solidify the sword.

I pulled the molecules of the mist together, changing their configuration, coagulating them into something real. Metal, I had to try for metal somehow. I felt the sword take shape in my hands, but it was warped and twisted, surreal, and fading out in places. It had absolutely no mass, but there was definitely solid matter there. I had to admit that it didn't even look like a sword.

In the midst of my attempt at solidifying an illusion, I hadn't even noticed the bullies running away. Tossing away my pathetic attempt, I set myself again to the task at hand: Morgana.

Returning to the street, I set off northward, hoping to do another scrying if I could not find him after a while. I would probably be able to take of any more aggressive humans I came across using conventional magic. The unorthodox magic scared me beyond fear, so much in fact that I hardly knew I was afraid. But I had to admit that perhaps the Warriors of Mist were wrong in banning all new magic.

I walked a hundred meters and found myself at the entrance to a large, well-lit building, probably the one my scrying had pinpointed Morgana as occupying. Hesitantly, I approached the glass panels which I assumed served as doors. The glass panels started sliding open without any prompting from me, causing me to jump back in startlement. Then I made another assumption and guessed that they slide open by magic when they detect someone coming near. Accepting this as truth, I entered the structure.

I was somewhat unnerved when I saw that the building was filled with countless aisles filled with a truly vast variety of items. I would never be able to find anyone in here! The aisles quite effectively blocked my view of anyone any distance away from me in here. This would force me to inspect the entire building aisle by aisle until I found Morgana, and I was somewhat hesitant to do that, considering the fact that he might take the opportunity of my preoccupation to make good an escape. Or, even worse, he could sneak up behind me in here and cast a spell on me. It was not a chance I was eager to take. There had to be a better way.

I let myself slip into mist form again, and slide across toward where I can feel Morgana to be. Her eyes watch me, but no hatred lies in those eyes, not at all what I expected. She too takes on mist form.

Greetings, brother. Why is it that you are following me? Ah, I see. Your father sent you, did he. Uther Pendragon is wrong, you know. Very, very wrong. Why are you surprised, brother? Did he never tell you who I really am? About how he murdered my father and forced himself upon _our_ mother? So he thought to keep that from you, did he. Arthur Pendragon, I am your sister.

Sister! I cannot believe what she tells me, surely she must be lying. But no attempt at deception registers with me. It is only the truth that she speaks, whether I like it or not.

I bring myself together into solid form, and watch as Morgana, my sister, does the same. Much as I wanted to deny it, I could feel the kinship between us, inexplicable, perpetual, and undeniable.

"Morgana," I murmured. "Why didn't he tell me? And why--WHY--did he send me after you?"

I was so shocked that all the bad things I had heard about him fluttered out of my mind. I knew only that I had heard bad things, but could not recall their details.

"That was what I was wondering myself. I came to Terra to practice my magic where I couldn't possibly harm mist people. Unconventional though they claim it is. I don't subscribe to the code of the Warriors of Mist."

Evil! Every instinct I had been raised with told me this was evil, errant, wayward, rebellious. Unconsciously I took a step away from her. He could not be my sister. No sister of mine would deny the code.

She stepped toward me, and touched me on my right shoulder with his left hand, her solid hand delicate. I looked up at the solid form she preferred, orange-red hair and dark brown eyes, eyes that glint with an inner fire. A great power, and a desire, residing within her. Anger, fury, yet also intelligence, and a fierce independence. My sister was my complete opposite.

"Come, we should not stay here," Morgana's voice murmured, as she turned from my gaze to glare around at the building we were in.

Numbly, I followed her out, without really thinking about what I was doing or where we were going.


End file.
